Page 85 of Switch Hitter

He laughs at David’s nonsense. He keeps up with Scott’s sarcasm and nods at Kieran’s quiet observations like he respects them. He’s polite with my parents. He even helps clear plates without being asked.

And my mom is watching him like she’s already planning our wedding.

At one point, my dad catches Emiliano’s eye and says, almost awkwardly, “Thank you… for loving my son.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” Emiliano says. “I’m always going to love him.”

Fuck me. If this man is gunning for me to propose to him, he is well on his way to getting one.

When we leave Monterey, it’s late afternoon, the sky turning soft gold over the coast, and my body feels wrung out. Emiliano drives this time, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on my thigh like it’s normal. I stare out the window, watching the ocean disappear behind hills.

“We did it,” I whisper, like I can’t believe it.

Emiliano’s thumb strokes once over my leg. “You did it,” he corrects.

I swallow. “My dad didn’t⁠—”

“He didn’t lose you,” Emiliano finishes, his voice calm.

We drive back toward San Francisco because Emiliano has to check in Sunday night for the Giants series, and the reality hits again.

All the schedules and flights.

The distance.

The cost of loving someone who is also a baseball player.

I glance over at him, and he’s just calm. Knowing him, he’s already decided this is worth it.

Monday night, after Emiliano’s game against the Giants, the stadium is loud with victory, flashes, and phones.

They win because my man was throwing heat.

Emiliano’s on the field with that composed, lethal calm, and I’m in the stands trying to pretend my heart isn’t in my throat. When the final out is called, the Mets pour out of the dugout like a wave. Emiliano finds me near the tunnel like he always does, like his body knows where I am before his eyes do.

He’s sweaty and smiling when he reaches me. His gaze drops to my mouth, then flicks back up like a question. My pulse jumps. I nod before fear can talk me out of it. Then he cups my face and kisses me.

Right here.

In view of everyone.

No more hiding from the crowds and cameras.

A real kiss, one the crowd instantly reacts to. A mix of cheers and shocked noise and phones lifting like weapons. My brain goes into a white-hot panic.

Emiliano pulls back just enough to murmur, smug and soft, “Let them watch.”

My heart pounds. “Emiliano⁠—”

He kisses me again, quickly, then rests his forehead on mine.

“You’re it for me, Cobre,” he whispers. “And I want the world to know it.”

I swallow hard. “Yeah?”

He smiles like he won something bigger than baseball. “Yeah… it’s me and you.”

Holy shit. I can’t believe we just did that in front of God knows how many people.